


The Sundays of Our Lives

by NotThatIWillEverWriteIt



Series: Domestic Iwaoi [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe, F/M, Family, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 08:05:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15287322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotThatIWillEverWriteIt/pseuds/NotThatIWillEverWriteIt
Summary: When Tooru got back Hinata was awkwardly cradling the baby and Hajime was sitting at the table his head between his knees. The cut was still bleeding so Tooru wrapped it in a band-aid with flying planes on it. He always bought the ones meant for kids because why not have at least a little smile when you got hurt. He caressed Hajime’s clammy neck and pressed a peck on his hair which he knew would at the latest pump some blood up to his head.





	The Sundays of Our Lives

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was purely inspired by [the Brazil episode](https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x5vkhak) of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations. In the end, he goes to this lady's house for Sunday dinner and the whole atmosphere of the gathering (and the country in general) was so beautiful and warm, I felt like I had to do something with it. Now, I know Japan doesn't really have a similar culture of going to spend leisure time at others' homes but... *shrugs* ...they do now. 
> 
> Read and review <(_ _)>

The kitchen was the most important place in Mio’s childhood. An oblong shaped room with an aisle between two countertops so narrow that if occupied by two people at the same time, one of them had to back out to let the other one pass. The second most important place was the dining room. Well, room was an exaggeration perhaps. It was just an extension of the kitchen, a little corner before the living room, and constituted of a wobbly table and rickety chairs. 

Yet, every Sunday, a minimum of five people gathered around the table for food, drinks, and a good time. As long as she could remember, everyone worked hard from Monday through Saturday, but Sundays were always dedicated to homemade cooking, getting pleasantly buzzed, and socializing. 

The weekly get-togethers had three rules. One, any potluck kinds of contributions were appreciated but not necessary. Daddy always brought lots of leftovers from the restaurant. He was usually in charge of the kitchen at home, but everyone was welcomed to participate in the cooking in one way or another. Two, there was an open-door policy. Everyone was free to come and go as they pleased. Sometimes people just popped over for a drink or a quick snack, sometimes they stayed from dusk till dawn. And three, whoever got the bay leaf with the stew had to help with the dishes. That rule was non-negotiable, even though daddy always made sure to wash the most of it. Especially if the poor individual who pulled the leaf was dad. 

These meetings of friends and family had always been an essential part of her life.

**~~oOo~~**

The young teenager who worked as a dishwasher at the restaurant, Hinata-kun, was handed a little bundle of pink. Gingerly he held the baby at arm’s length, and his eyes widened in wonder.

“Ohh! Is this her?”

Tooru rolled his eyes while setting a sweating pitcher in the middle of the table. “No, she’s a random baby we stole. You have to pay to see the one we adopted.”

Hinata’s cheeks flared red from embarrassment, and he muttered something. The way he was holding the baby was awkward and uncomfortable, and her face screwed up and she started to whimper. Hinata flinched back and offered someone, anyone, to take the baby from his hands. Hajime’s boss and the owner of the restaurant, Ukaida, picked the baby from the busboy’s awkward hold. 

“Let me look at her,” he said and settled the baby to lean against his chest. “My youngest one is already in senior high, so it’s been a while since I’ve held one of these, but it’s like riding a bike.” 

He was a father of four daughters and when he had learned they were going to adopt a girl he had given Hajime extensive lectures about how hard raising girls was. According to him, they will rob Hajime of sleep, money, hair, and heart. 

“Really?” Hajime had once asked. “Won’t raising boys require all of those, too?”

Ukaida had grinned at him the way that made him look like a little boy instead of a 50-years-old man. “Are you kidding me? All boys need to grow up is a stick to play with and another stick to discipline them with.”

There was a crash of dishes meeting the floor in the kitchen, followed by Hajime’s cursing. Hinata flinched in his seat either at the loud noise or the cussing. The baby in Ukaida’s arms startled awake and immediately began to cry. Tooru reached to take her but Ukaida pulled back. 

“We’re okay, I got her. Why don’t you go see how many cups the master chef over there broke?” He offered his calloused finger for the baby as a distraction and she clasped her tiny fist around it.

Tooru took a careful peek into the kitchen. Hajime was wiping what looked like a bowlful of curry with a rag and picking up pieces of Tooru’s favorite green bowl. His hands moved around with angry jerks and tosses. 

“You need help?”

“Don’t come here barefoot, there’re shards everywhere. Ah!” Hajime’s hand flinched when he reached for a piece of the broken bowl. Immediately blood seeped through the cut. “Fuck.” He wiped the blood on his apron. 

“Don’t just w – here, let me.” Tooru ripped a piece of paper towel and carefully watching his steps crouched down to inspect Hajime’s finger. “It doesn’t seem that deep, but we have to clean it.”

“Yeah, I know. I got it.” Hajime snapped and pulled his hand back. “Just let me clean this up.”

Tooru pursed his lips to suppress his sharp comeback. “I’ll go get the first-aid kit.”

He could feel Ukaida’s eyes on him when he strode past the dining table to the bathroom. 

“Everything okay?”

“Just a little cut.”

When Tooru got back Hinata was awkwardly cradling the baby and Hajime was sitting at the table his head between his knees. Judging by the clatter of dishes and running water Ukaida was in the kitchen. 

“He got a bit lightheaded,” Hinata said. He was making faces at the baby, and she was watching up at him wide-eyed and quiet. 

Ukaida came from the kitchen with a tall glass of water. “Here.”

Carefully Hajime straightened himself and took a tentative sip. His face was pale and drenched in sweat. 

“Woah, was it the blood?” Tooru squatted down at Hajime’s level and started cleaning the cut. “You’ve never had a problem with it?”

“I think he was just overworking himself. I doubt neither of you has gotten much sleep lately with the baby and all. Why don’t you sit this one out? Junior and I will take care of it.” Before either Hajime or Tooru could protest he disappeared back into the kitchen and resumed banging the pots and pans. 

The cut was still bleeding so Tooru wrapped it in a band-aid with flying planes on it. He always bought the ones meant for kids because why not have at least a little smile when you got hurt. 

“Do you want to go lay down?” He twisted to look at Hajime’s face between his knees. 

“I’m fine.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah, it’s getting better already.”

“See? I told you the planes make all the difference.” He caressed Hajime’s clammy neck and pressed a peck on his hair which he knew would at the latest pump some blood up to his head. Public displays of affection always embarrassed him. And sure enough, Hajime’s back tensed and he spluttered something about Idiotkawa but Tooru ignored the discordant notes. 

“What are you gonna name her?” Hinata asked from across the table. The baby seemed to have settled herself in his hold even though it looked somewhat unconventional. Her eyes were already drooping. 

“We were thinking Mio.”

“Oh, because of the cherry blossoms?”

“Nothing really escapes your keen eyes, does it.”

Hinata’s mouth pulled down to a pout. “I was just asking.” His expression melted back to fascination however when he looked down at her snuffling face and half-closed eyes. “It’s a pretty name, though. Hi, Mio, I’m your uncle Shouyou.” 

He kept cooing over her, and Tooru looked at it all somewhat disbelieved. It had taken them years of legal battles and paperwork to finally get to this point. Endless conversations, meetings, home visits, and convincing had kept their life constantly on hold and been exhausting but one look at his daughter’s blissed expression when he was feeding her at 3 in the morning made it all worth it. For the next couple of years, sleep would be sparse, and they’d keep dropping dishes and snapping at each other, but it would all be worth it. When it gets too much, and it will, they’ll just put their heads between their knees and stick an airplane band-aid on it. 

In the middle of her nap, the baby’s lips pursed and her too big forehead wrinkled like she was concentrating her little baby brains really hard. Tooru clung to the last seconds of quiet but the cries never came. Instead, her face relaxed again. 

Thank god for small miracles, Tooru thought and sipped Hajime’s water. Ukaida set a full bowl of leftover curry and rice in front of him, and his stomach grumbled. 

Hinata froze and sniffed a couple times. His nose wrinkled, and face went greenish. “Oikawa-senpai, I think she’s leaking,” he said just as Tooru was about to take his first spoonful. 

Yup, still worth it.

**~~oOo~~**

“Mattsun-oniichan!” the little girl exclaimed and bounced on her feet when a tall, dark-haired man entered the living room carrying a case of beer. He barely had time to put his load down before the little girl jumped into his lap. Her skinny arms and legs wrapped around him like a monkey around a tree, and he could barely keep his balance.

“Woah, how can something so little be so heavy? Have you eaten something heavy, huh?” he said and bounced her up and down like weighing something. “A horse? No way. You’ve eaten an entire _horse_?!”

“No, Mattsun-oniichan! I couldn’t eat a _horse_!”

“You sure? You sure you’re not hiding a horse in there somewhere?” He bounced her a couple more times. She giggled and shrieked when she was tossed in the air. Her long, black hair that no one except her dad was allowed to touch was flying and fell over her beaming face. 

“Okay, where are your dads? I gotta give these to them when they’re still cold.” He scooped her to sit against his hip and grabbed the bag. 

“Daddy’s making food.”

“What’s he making?” 

“Dunno. Grandpa is showing him in the kitchen.”

Mattsun nodded his greetings at Oikawa and some black-haired young guy sitting at the table. They were hunched over and having what seemed like a heated conversation. 

When Oikawa spotted him, he leaned back and waved at the younger guy. “Hey, can you help me hammer some common sense into this one’s head tonight? He honestly thinks the Tigers are gonna win this season because they have that new pitcher.”

“Not a chance. We’ve heard that story too many times to believe it.” Mattsun shook his head, and the guy frowned at him. Before he could argue Mattsun headed to the kitchen. 

He found another pair, Iwaizumi and his boss, engrossed in a piece of fish on the cutting board. Ukaida was explaining something while cutting a thin slice of the bright orange file and Iwaizumi was observing his every move so keenly and close his nose was almost touching the fish.

“You lean any closer and you’re gonna get your eyes poked out,” Mattsun said from the doorway. “Is he such a poor cook he can’t even cut a piece of fish?” 

“This coming from a guy who can barely boil water,” Iwaizumi said dryly without taking his eyes off the fish. “You’d be starving without my cooking.”

Mattsun chuckled and handed the bag. “I come bearing gifts, oh wise one. Hopefully, this will grand me some of that fish tonight.”

Iwaizumi loaded the beers into the fridge and handed one to Matssun. “Thanks. I can’t believe they were out of my brand at the corner shop. Here, go take a seat. And Mio, don’t bother him the whole night.”

“I’m not!” 

Mattsun joined the dinner table, and Mio conquered his lap. Oikawa introduced him to the young man. 

“This is Kageyama Tobio, he just started as a part-timer at the restaurant. Tobio-chan, this is Mattsun. He’s a childhood friend of ours.”

“Don’t call me that,” Kageyama said sullenly and glared at Oikawa behind his bangs 

“Nice to meet ya.” Mattsun shook hands with the kid. He looked young, but his grip was firm and serious. “So, you’re from Osaka?”

“Yes.”

Mio wiggled in his lap and fiddled with the sleeve of his shirt. 

“What brings you to Tokyo?”

“University.” 

“It turns out he goes to the same school with Chibi-chan.”

“Hinata?”

“Yeah.”

“Mattsun-oniichan, let’s play the game!” Mio straightened herself so fast the top of her head almost knocked Mattsun’s chin. “Come on, play it!” She bounced as if trying to coax Mattsun to move. 

“What game?”

“The game! The jumping game and then you drop me.”

“I don’t know if my legs are strong enough, though. You’ve eaten that horse, remember?”

“Come on, Mio, let him sit for a while.”

She turned to plead Mattsun with her big oval eyes that peeked through her thick bangs. “Please, Mattsun-oniichan, just one time. _Pleeeeaaseee_!”

“Okay, hold on tight.”

He began to bounce her on his knees while sing-songing a rhyme he had learned in his childhood. It told about a kid riding a pony, and the different knee-bounces were the different gaits of the horse. In the end, the horse was galloping at full speed, and Mio bobbed up and down and her little fingers dug into Mattsun’s forearms. 

“Clippety-cloppety, clippety-cloppety, clippety-cloppety,” he chanted and bounced his knees faster and faster. “clippety-cloppety, clippety-cloppety, CLOP.” At the last clop, his knees suddenly opened, and Mio dropped between them with a shriek. That was the part of the rhyme when the horse was going so fast the kid falls off the saddle. 

Giggling and out of breath she tried to hold on to Mattsun’s arms but eventually slid all the way down to the floor. Mattsun’s legs were shaking. Bouncing 10-something kilograms with your knees wasn’t as easy as it may sound like. 

“Again!” she cheered and got up. 

“Mio, that’s enough,” Oikawa said. He brushed Mio’s long bangs that had been tussled back to behind her ears. “I think I heard Daddy ask for you. Hajime!” he called. 

“Mio, I have something for you!” came Iwaizumi’s voice from the kitchen. 

Surprisingly she trotted to the kitchen without arguments. Her lively babbling carried to the living room. Mattsun listened to Iwaizumi teaching her how to wash vegetables and what flavors go with what. 

“It sounds like you’ve got a little cook in the making in there.” Ukaida retreated from the kitchen and sat next to Mattsun. 

“Oh, that’s nothing. I sometimes catch him lecturing her about different soy sauce brands, and they argue about which flour is the best for coating tofu. Mostly I just think he wants someone to peel all the vegetables for him.”

Ukaida grinned and picked up couple pretzels from the big bowl in the middle of the table. “That’s where it starts. Soon she’ll be sweating in some kitchen in a size of a bathroom ten hours a day.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, old man, your kitchen isn’t that big,” Oikawa teased and took a sip of his drink. 

“It’s not about the size, kid, it’s how you use it.”

Oikawa’s face flared uncharacteristically, and he almost choked on his beer. Kagayama frowned in confusion, and Mattsun decided not to give his pure mind time to catch up. 

“So, how bad do you think the Tigers are gonna get their asses whupped this season?”

**~~oOo~~**

Makki was in the middle of telling about the latest mishap of the kouhai he was trying to train when the front door clanked and Tooru sprung up from his seat. A shape flashed past the hallway but before it could make its way all the way upstairs he caught up to it.

“Mio, where in the _hell_ have you been?” 

The teenage girl who had tried to sneak to her room without anyone noticing froze on her tracks. 

“Ah, sorry, I lost the track of time,” she said. “I meant to call you, but my phone ran out of battery.”

“And you couldn’t use your friends’ phone?”

“Sorry, I’ll remember it next time, promise. I’m beat, good night!” She turned back to the staircase. 

“Hold it,” Tooru said. “What’s that smell?”

“What smell?” She gave a couple sniffs around herself. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Come here.”

“But – “ 

“Now.”

Mio’s shoulders slumped and she turned around. She stood in front of Tooru and crossed her arms.

Tooru leaned closer and took a couple sniffs near her mouth. “Have you been drinking?”

Mio pulled back and covered her mouth. “What! I’ve not!”

“What’s going on?” Hajime had walked behind Tooru and looked at Mio from head to toe. 

“Come on, I could almost smell the booze from the front door. Also, you look drunk. Just look at your face!” He waved Hajime to take a whiff, too. “Doesn’t she reek of alcohol?”

Mio stood frozen and glared at them when Hajime smelled. His brows knotted when he too got a heavy waft of alcohol. To his relief, it smelled mostly like something sweet and not the hard stuff. 

“Who bought you booze? You’re all underage.”

“No one,“ she insisted and jutted her chin out. “I told you, I’m not drunk!”

“I can smell it on your breath!” Tooru rolled his eyes. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. We know the truth, I just hoped you’d be adult enough to own up to it since you seem to be adult enough to get in trouble in the first place. Go to your room,” he pointed at the stairs, “go to your room, but we’re not done with you yet.”

Mio turned on her heels and stomped the stairs up. The door of her room was slammed shut soon after. A tense silence settled around the dining table, and people fiddled awkwardly with their glasses. Hajime took a seat with a deep sigh and knead his neck.

“You want me to go?” he asked. “Rock, paper, scissors?” 

“It’s okay, I’ll go.” Tooru sat down, too, and finished the rest of his cooled down tea in one go. “Let her stew for a while.”

“Ah, youth,” Ukaida said with a little smile. “I remember one cook at the restaurant sometimes sneaked me a beer or two when they were drinking. Used to drive my old man nuts when all his cooks _and_ his busboy were sluggish the next day.”

Tooru groaned. “What are we gonna do with her? Going out like that drinking with god knows who! Anything could’ve happened.”

“Come on, now,” Makki said and opened himself a fresh beer. “We were once young and stupid, too. Remember when we sneaked off to get drunk? Anything could’ve happened – hell, we almost wanted something to happen – but things turned out fine. You gotta let go and let them experience.” 

“So, what, it’s down to luck?” Hajime huffed. “Just watch them go and hope for the best?”

“Well, ultimately, yes.” Ukaida shrugged. “Of course, you try your damnest to bang some sense into their heads and make sure they won’t kill themselves or anyone else, but the rest of it is hoping you haven’t screwed up too bad. At some point, you can’t watch their every step anymore.”

“But at this rate, we can’t trust her,” Tooru said. 

“Of course, you shouldn’t trust her, she’s a _teenager_! But don’t always assume the worst, okay. I’ve raised four of these – remember? Just because you catch them on a lie, it doesn’t mean they’ll grow up not knowing the right from wrong. Did you?”

Hajime and Tooru fidgeted in their seats and mumbled something incoherent. Makki took a swing of his beer and hid his smirk behind the can. 

“Well, be that as it may,” Tooru said and got up with determination, “things still have consequences in this house.”

“You sure you don’t want me to go?”

“It’s fine, you take the next one. So, what are doing? Two plus one?”

“Yeah, sounds good. Tag me in if you need help.”

Tooru climbed the stairs and knocked on Mio’s door. When silence was his only answer, he opened the door. Mio was sitting on the bed, leaning her back against the wall, and typing on her phone. She glared at him when he sat down on a chair opposite to her. 

Now calmed down and trying to keep his body language relaxed, he looked straight at her. “I’m gonna ask you one more time. Did you drink alcohol tonight with your friends?”

Mio wouldn’t meet his eyes, just shrugged her shoulders. 

“You don’t know?”

A shrug. 

“Okay, well, your father and I were hoping you’d be honest with us, since we’re always trying to be honest with you, but I guess that’s too much to ask.”

“Fine, I drank a little!” She rolled her eyes and spread her arms. “Big deal. Everyone did.”

“I don’t really care about anyone else, though. You’re our responsibility, and we were worried about you tonight. You broke your curfew and came home drunk.”

“Oh, please, I wasn’t drunk!”

“You had clearly been drinking, so yes, _drunk_. Do you have any idea that you were breaking the law and if you had been caught, there would’ve been serious consequences not only to you but to us, too? Or worse, what if something had happened? What if you had gotten hurt and we had no idea where you were or who you were with?”

“Nothing _happened_ , we were just hanging out! I’m not stupid, I can take care of myself. And I was with my friends, okay? Why do you always have to act like I’m gonna die the moment I go out a little?!”

“Because we’re your parents! Of course, we worry!”

“Well, don’t! I’m fine. I swear none of my friends’ parents are like you two.”

Quietly Tooru counted to ten and bit his tongue. Getting angry would serve no one. “Fortunately, we’re not your friends’ parents so we don’t have to worry about them. But we worry about you. We worry because we care. Or what would it feel like if we didn’t show any interest or concern whatsoever?”

Mio pursed her lips and went back to shrugging her shoulders. 

“Yeah, I thought so. But don’t worry, here’s the part that will make you hate us even more, your punishment.” He began to count on his fingers. “You came home late, you lied to us, and you got drunk. Your father and I decided that starting now, you’re grounded for two weeks. And, you lost your phone and laptop privileges for a week.”

Mio’s head snapped up, and her eyes were wide with fury. “What?! That’s totally unfair!”

Feeling like an old man with achy bones and a sore back, Tooru stood up. “You can’t do as you wish and not expect there to be consequences. That’s how the real world works, too. You break the rules, you’ll get punished. We’re not doing this to be an ass, but I get that it’s hard for you to see that, it’s gonna take another 10 years.” Tooru held out his hand. “Now, your phone, please.”

Mio cradled the decorated device protectively against her chest. “Can’t I tell my friends first? So they won’t try to message me.”

“You’ll see your friends tomorrow at school. I’m sure they’ll survive until then.” Tooru wiggled his fingers. “Come on, turn it off and give it here.”

Angrily Mio jammed the power button and flung the phone to Tooru. She laid down on the bed, yanked the blanket over her shoulders and turned her back on him. “I hate you all and I wish didn’t have to live here!” she shouted from under the blanket.

“Yeah, I figured. But we love to have you and that’s never gonna change.” He reached down and patted Mio’s shoulder, but she shrugged his hand off. “Good night,” he said before closing the door quietly after himself. 

When he got back downstairs everyone had left and Hajime was in the kitchen sorting the dishes. His board back looked so tempting that Tooru wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his head on his shoulder. Hajime jumped at the sudden touch a little.

“How did it go?”

“She hates us and doesn’t want to live here.”

“The usual, then.” He shuffled to face Tooru who proceeded to lean against Hajime’s chest. “Hey, I was thinking. Maybe we should call her friends’ parents about this, that they were drinking? I doubt they have any idea about what’s going on.”

Tooru hummed and rubbed his cheek on Hajime’s shirt. It smelled like frying oil, sweat, and aftershave. Hajime’s wet hands had come to rest against the small of Tooru’s back and the dishwater soaked through his shirt.

“Could you make the calls? I always get smart with other parents. Imagine me telling them their kids may be drinking.”

Hajime’s low chuckle rumbled next to Tooru’s ear. “Yeah, that has success written all over it. Sure, I’ll call them tomorrow.” He gabbed Tooru’s shoulders and hoisted him on his own feet. “Now come on and help me with the dishes. You got the bay leaf, after all.”

**~~oOo~~**

Ben was pulled awake from his jetlag induced unconsciousness by fingers brushing through his hair. At first, he thought it was a part of his dream but then the touch was accompanied by a quiet voice right next to his ear.

“Hey, sleepyhead, you gonna be in bed the whole time?”

Groggy from the deep slumber he cracked his eyes open and found himself face-to-face with Mio. 

“Mornin’,” she said with a smile.

“Ngh.” Ben buried his face into the pillow but then noticed the unfamiliar scent and looked around the strange room unoriented. 

“Where…” 

“Not in New York anymore, I can tell you that much. We’re at my parents’. Home.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s all coming back now. The flight from hell, subway nightmare, Hello Kitties everywhere,” he groaned and stretched his limbs that cracked and popped. “What time is it?”

“Sunday.”

“What?!” Ben’s head shot up. “I slept around the clock?”

“Well, it’s barely noon so not quite. Anyway,” she sprung to her feet and started to rummage through her suitcase, “my parents are prepping dinner, and I promised to go get grandpa.”

“Wait, they’re cooking dinner already?”

She pulled a shirt out and inspected it at arm’s length. “It’s Sunday. Dinner is the whole day.”

“You’re gonna leave me alone with them...?” 

“Oh, come on, Dad’s been dying to properly meet you the whole day. And driving grandpa is only gonna take a minute, so it’s fine. I can’t believe you’ve met some scary looking people in your life and you’re scared of two Japanese men. You’re a New Yorker.”

After deeming the shirt presentable she tossed it on the bed and proceeded to nimbly strip her T-shirt. Ben let his eyes linger on her smooth pale skin, flat stomach, and curves of her bosom suddenly presented right in front of him. 

“None of my clients are my potential fathers-in-law, though.”

Mio frowned. “Potential? You have other candidates?”

“You’re right. Not any girl’s parents live on another continent, so you’re definitely a keeper.”

“You!” She attacked him still half-dressed and shoved him by his shoulders. Ben caught her narrow wrists and pulled her down with him. With a surprised yelp she fell half on top of him, and quickly he rolled them around and pinned her free hand to the mattress. Instead of trying to fight him she pressed her body against his and looked up at him with an arched eyebrow. 

“Oh, you’re having impure thoughts? Come on, Casanova, I dare ya.”

He released her hand to brush some loosened strands of hair behind her ear. The jet-black hair slid silky smooth between his fingers. He noticed she had light pink cherry flowers strung in her long braid. 

“Your hair looks pretty.”

To his surprise, a slight blush rose to her cheeks, and she avoided his eyes. 

“Dad braided it. He always did my hair when I was a kid.”

“Which one was he again?”

“The one with better hair. Daddy tried once but – I can’t remember what happened – but it went wrong so bad they ended up having to cut it short. Apparently, I didn’t talk to him for days after that.”

Ben chuckled. “Ouch. Remind me not to mess with your hair.”

The suggestive smile returned to her lips. “You can mess it anytime.”

It was Ben’s turn to flush red. Someone yelled something from downstairs (all Ben could make out was ‘Mio-chan’), and he jumped off her. Mio hollered something back, dressed up and took a quick look of herself in the mirror. 

“Why don’t you wash up a little and go give them a hello. Dad speaks pretty good English, so you’re fine. Later!” And in one glimpse of her black braid, she was gone. 

After a quick change of clothes and freshening up Ben headed downstairs. Honest to god, he was nervous to even move around in the house. Everything seemed so fragile, detailed, and small, and he was the bulky, clumsy, American bull in a china shop. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he carefully came down the narrow staircase. 

Music and clinking of dishes carried from the kitchen. The sliding doors weren’t completely shut, and for some reason, he didn’t go in but peeked through the gap. There was a dark-haired man his board back to the door setting snacks and drinks to the little table. The music seemed to have covered his steps. The song sounded nice even though he had no idea what she was singing about. 

Something was said in Japanese to the man with wide shoulders, and another man – a little taller but a smaller build, an exceptional hair – came and rearranged the snack bowls. It seemed his contribution wasn’t well received, and for a while, they shuffled the bowls back and forth. Ben smiled to himself, it felt like watching a silent movie. 

Finally, the one with dark hair threw his arms in the air and gave up. He tried to walk past the other but was captured in a playful embrace. Arms wrapped loosely behind his neck, and the man with chocolate brown hair swayed in time with the music. Ben caught a glimpse of his smile. It resembled surprisingly much Mio’s mischievous grin even though they weren’t blood relatives. At first, his reluctant dancing partner just stood in place, but when he was caught in a kiss he slowly began to follow the other man’s lead and shuffled his feet. 

I really shouldn’t be spying on them like this, Ben cringed to himself. All they need to do is – 

“Oh, you’re up!”

Ben froze. The good-haired man had spotted him peeping and untangled himself. The other man’s face flared bright red, and stiffly he disappeared into the kitchen. Embarrassed Ben slid the door open. Great.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to spy like that.”

The man waved his hand in front of his face in a manner Ben didn’t really understand. It looked like something smelled bad right under his nose, but he was smiling. 

“It’s okay. Did you sleep well?”

He had a thick Japanese accent, and Ben was struggling a bit to make sense of it. 

“Yeah. Sorry about that, too.”

“You sure you’re not Japanese?” He laughed. “You sure apologize a lot.”

Ben chuckled and relaxed his shoulders. Something was called in Japanese from the kitchen. 

“Oh, Iwa-chan asked if you’d like something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Beer?”

Iwa-chan? 

“Coffee and some water would be great, thanks.”

He was signed to take a seat – the chair wobbled under him when he gingerly sat on it – and beverages were brought to him. 

“Arigato,” he said. 

“You speak Japanese?”

“Oh no, I only know some phrases here and there. I’ve watched a lot of Mio’s animes.” He took a careful sip of the steaming coffee, and it was so stiff the last remains of sleep were shed on the spot. 

“Really? What else do you know?”

Think before you speak, idiot. “Umm, let’s see. Arigato.” The man nodded in encouragement. “Domo. Tadaima, that’s my favorite expression I think. Aaand…Oh, idatakimasu.” 

“Ah, _itadaki_ masu.” 

“Itadakimasu,” Ben repeated and carefully stressed the syllabuses. 

“Good, your Japanese sounds good! Iwa-chan did you hear?”

Something that resembled affirmative came from the kitchen. 

“Have you ever been to Japan before?”

“No, sir, this is my first time.”

The man’s already big oval eyes widened, and his lips quivered. “Ah, you don’t have to call me sir. Oikawa-san is fine.”

“Oikawa-san,” Ben gave it a try, and there was no denying it sounded weird in his mouth. “You can call me Ben.”

“Ben-kun!” he said and flashed a smile so bright Ben was taken aback a little. “The grump in the kitchen is Iwa-chan.”

The other man emerged from the kitchen carrying a plateful of some kind of rice balls, and something in his response to Oikawa-san let Ben on a little hint that he shouldn’t call him that. He wiped his hands on the apron and reached to shake Ben’s hand. The grip was firm and calloused. 

“Iwaizumi-san,” he said and bowed a little. 

“Ben. Are you the cook? Mio has told me a lot about you.”

What Ben had thought was a compliment seemed to make Iwaizumi-san flustered, and he cleared his throat awkwardly and retreated to the kitchen again. 

“Don’t mind him.” Oikawa-san leaned closer to Ben and lowered his voice, and automatically Ben found himself mirroring his movements. “Between you and me, he’s been really nervous about you coming here. The poor man has been slaving in the kitchen for weeks trying to perfect whatever western dishes he can cook.”

“Mio has cooked me some Japanese dishes, I can handle them.”

“So, Ben-kun, have you always lived in New York?”

“Yeah, born and raised.”

“Mio told us you’re a tattoo artist.” Oikawa-san glanced at Ben’s let forearm covered in tattoos. “Do you have your own shop?”

“At the moment, I’m bunking with two other guys but we all work independently. New York is kinda challenging when it comes to locations and rents.”

“Uh-huh. How long have you been in the business?” 

It felt like he was in a job interview listing his qualifications, but he didn’t mind. Talking about what he loved made him feel relaxed. 

“I’ve been doing my own show for a couple years now. Before that I worked as a…an apprentice, I guess you’d call it, for this veteran tattooist before I finished high school.”

“Oh, that sounds very similar to how chefs are trained. That’s how Mio has been learning things from Iwa-chan, and he has been learning them from Ukaida-san.” When Ben looked at him confused, he continued. “Grandpa.”

“Oh, so he’s not a blood relative?”

“No, but he’s always been around.” The front door clanked, and Mio called her greetings. “Speak of the devil,” Oikawa-san said and got up, “he doesn’t speak a word of English, but you might find him interesting. Anyway, let us treat you and welcome you tonight, and we’ll get to know each other. And if I were you, I’d keep my eyes open for the bay leaf in the curry. Whoever catches that wins a special price.”

**Author's Note:**

> Behind the keyboard: [Tumblr](https://notthatiwilleverwriteit.tumblr.com/) | [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/venni.talvi.31) | IG: @notthatiwilleverwriteit


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